


Tell Me Who I Am

by tanathil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Depression, It Gets Better, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanathil/pseuds/tanathil
Summary: Will is a vessel of borrowed emotions, theothershe can't help but soak in making him lose sight of theIthat he should be.It is what it is.It is what it is, until he meets Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	Tell Me Who I Am

Sometimes it’s too loud, too much, too overwhelming, too _everything_. A never ending cacophony of noises in his head, an endless flow of borrowed feelings coursing through his bloodstream. He’s a vessel of emotions, each one contradicting the other, a murky mess of behavioural patterns, some of them his, some of them not. Some days he loses himself in the tar thick swamps of his mind, unable to tell apart the _I_ and _them_ , the _mine_ and _everyone else’s_.

Some days Will sits under the running water of the showerhead, staring at the opposite wall with unseeing eyes as steam fills his lungs, hoping to drown out the noises, to have the rushing water wash away the parts that are not _I_ from his naked skin, to cleanse himself of _theirs_ and have something left behind that he might recognize as his.

It never works. Of course it doesn’t. That doesn’t stop Will from sitting alone on the hard tiles of the bathroom floor and shivering under the spray even as the scaldingly hot water nearly blisters his skin.

Some days he doesn’t eat, the hollowness in his stomach something that he knows is completely his, something that he knows _they_ can’t control. Some days he drinks too much whiskey, the alcohol infused oblivion offering a temporary ease, but he knows it's a slippery slope, searching for a peace of mind from the bottom of a bottle, so he tries not to do that too often, only sometimes.

Some nights he goes to bars and lets strangers fuck him in the dirty bathroom stalls. He fingers himself open beforehand, before entering those dimly lit places where everything smells of spilled beer and cigarette smoke, but only just, only enough to barely slick himself up with two fingers so he can simply hand the strange men a condom and tell them to forego the prep without too much questions on the matter from their part.

It hurts, dear gods does it hurt when they fuck him, the pain all encompassing as they force their way in, as they tear him up, as they grip his hips with drunken hands and hold him still and use him. Even as tears spill from his eyes he revels in that sensation, in the way it overpowers the parts of _them_ , leaving his mind clear and sharp as those violent connections become his only focus. The pain is like a beacon, showing the way to _I_ , and he follows it like a lifeline, fighting his way out of the foggy landscape where nothing is his.

This is Will’s life, and it is what it is. With a detached kind of curiosity he wonders when he will reach his breaking point and stop this imitation of a somewhat functioning human being. It’s not a question of ‘if’ he will ever reach that point; he knows it will come, knows the pieces of him shattering apart and grinding to fine dust are something he can’t glue back together. One day, a piece will fall and it’ll be one too many, it’ll be the one that makes the rest of him crumble down with not enough structure left in him to hold the _I_ together anymore. He faintly hopes that maybe it’ll be quiet then.

Then, something new happens; Will meets Hannibal. Hannibal doesn’t give off emotions like everyone else does, and it’s the strangest thing. Hannibal is like an empty canvas, a talking, breathing mannequin doll with nothing inside, only painted on expressions mimicking emotions with such talent that it all almost seems real. Almost, but not quite, not for Will who is what he is, and what he is is someone who soaks up everyone’s inner-self he’s close by, whether he wants to or not, but there’s nothing in Hannibal for him to take in, nothing authentic projecting out of the well groomed outer shell.

The strangest thing. After a while Will also comes to the realization that it’s the best of things, even when this nearly absolute ‘nothingness’ of the man points towards something outside of normal, something that tastes like the term ‘psychopathy’ (Will finds that it doesn’t bother him. Everyone has their flaws. Will’s no one to judge).

When Will’s with Hannibal he can breathe easier, can hear the thoughts that are _I_ , not _them_ , not _Hannibal_. Hannibal gives off nothing that would mingle with Will’s ownself and it’s a completely new experience, being around someone without having parts of himself suffocated by their emotions.

It’s strange, it’s new, it’s thrilling, and Will finds himself yearning more and more for Hannibal’s presence, for the _I_ he gets to be when he’s around Hannibal.

The next time Will wants to go to a bar, he doesn’t. Instead, he goes to Hannibal’s, buys a bottle of something some-what expensive and red on the way, and they drink it and they fuck and it burns but there’s no pain and there are hands on him but they do not hurt and he wets the sheets with tears and the tears taste like relief.

Something begins from that night, something _new_. It’s always something new with Hannibal.

Hannibal cooks for him everyday, brings the food to Will when Will can’t go to his place. Even when Will has those days he’d prefer not to eat he still does because Hannibal went through the trouble of preparing something specifically for him. Will can’t bring himself to repay a kindness like that by letting the food go to waste.

When Hannibal comes to Wolf Trap unannounced one early morning, Will has already been sitting in the bathroom under the running shower for forty minutes. Hannibal finds him there, naked and shivering, wet curls plastered to his forehead, eyes unfocused.

Hannibal strips himself and sits next to Will under the hot water that must be way too uncomfortable for him, but he does nothing to adjust the temperature. He wraps one arm around Will’s middle and Will, without a conscious thought, leans his head on Hannibal’s bare shoulder. They stay like that for another half an hour before Will comes back to himself enough to become aware that someone is in his home with him sharing the same space, the same steamy air as him.

Neither of them speak as Hannibal turns the shower off and helps Will to his feet. He towels Will dry with gentle hands before wrapping him in a bathrobe, then repeats the process on himself, putting back on the clothes he wore upon his arrival.

Hannibal directs Will to the kitchen, makes them both tea and heats up the breakfast he brought with him. Will drinks the tea and eats the food and in the presence of Hannibal he finds himself. He offers Hannibal a tentative smile and Hannibal smiles back with sunlight on his face and everything is quiet.

After a time, Will figures out that Hannibal’s the Chesapeake Ripper. With that comes the realization that what Hannibal’s been feeding him, what he’s been feeding to Will’s dogs in the form of sausages, is human meat.

Will finds that this, too, does not bother him. Everyone has their flaws, and his and Hannibal’s compliment one another's in a way that makes Will feel less broken, less shattered, less alone and alien. Will’s structure with its missing pieces is strengthened by Hannibal, by the nothing he is, by the everything he is to Will. He can't bring himself to despise the man, not even because of something like this. He knows he should, he should turn Hannibal in, he should feel revulsion for the things he's done, but, for once in his life, Will lets himself be selfish, lets himself keep Hannibal in his life 'cause he yearns for that peace, for the quiet.

Hannibal is a murderer, and Will doesn't mind. Flawed, all of them. It's okay.

One day, one of the bad days when Will feels another part of himself about to break loose, when everything’s too overwhelming and he wants to drink and he wants the pain and he wants the rushing water, he goes to Hannibal with his heart beating a fast excited tempo at the prospect of something _new_ , and Will asks him; “Can I come with you? On the hunt?”

And Hannibal, he stills and he is nothing and he considers Will with dark eyes and Will wonders if this is the breaking point, if, instead of his own hand, what finally tears the remainder of _I_ down is Hannibal. This, too, Will thinks, is something that would not bother him.

Seconds that stretch into infinity pass as Hannibal looks at him, unmoving, a predator biding its time to strike. Will meets his gaze, unafraid, steady, and he smiles and feels at peace. No matter what happens, with Hannibal, there is always peace.

Finally, the predator moves and it lifts its hand and it cradles Will’s cheek and it leans in with a mouth filled with fangs. For a moment nothing happens, their lips hovering close to one another’s, the air exhaled from Will’s lungs inhaled by Hannibal before those filtered molecules get passed back.

Will is prepared for hands to crush his pharynx, for the feeling of something sharp sliding into his gut, for Hannibal to grab the stag statue from the side table and bash his head in, but what he gets is a kiss, violent in a way that is not life threatening. The kiss is red, the kiss is hunger, the kiss is acceptance and understanding, it’s the _too much_ that Will carries inside himself melting down and mixing with the _nothing_ and _everything_ in Hannibal.

Hannibal’s teeth nick open Will’s lip, the blood making their shared saliva taste like iron. Hannibal growls into Will’s mouth, teases at the tender skin to get more of that taste out, drinking it down like a parched man, Will unable to do nothing but moan and gasp and shiver through the sensation.

Eventually Hannibal detaches himself from Will’s bleeding lips, both of them panting harshly as he presses their foreheads together. They’re glued to one another from knees to pelvis, arousal a flame bright thing in Will’s stomach as he unconsciously ruts his hips in small, barely there movements, his erect cock brushing against Hannibal’s through layers of constricting clothing.

“You marvelous thing,” Hannibal breathes out reverently, voice low and raspy. He nudges the side of Will’s nose with the tip of his own, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhales deeply. “Of course you can come.”

Will only ever gets but the faintest of traces, the barest of ideas of emotions from Hannibal, but now, for the first time, there’s something powerful resonating from him, something that fills Will with such a force his breath hitches and for a moment he feels lightheaded, unsteady on his feet. The feeling eases and becomes more easily decipherable, and as Will looks in he can still see the _I_ , crystal clear, and entwined with it is _Hannibal_ ; not overpowering him, not suffocating him, not making Will disappear and lose himself under the additional presence.

The emotion he soaks in from Hannibal is the same one Will feels himself. Those two separate yet same things swirl inside him, complimenting each other like a dish paired with just the right wine, creating the perfect harmony.

A pleasant shiver runs down like molten lava down Will’s spine. He smiles brilliantly as he presses the crown of his head under Hannibal’s chin, a silent but clear laugh escaping from his lips.

Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, kisses the top of his head and then keeps his face pressed against those dark curls, breathing him in.

All is not quiet; Now, there’s something _new_. Now, there’s the presence of Hannibal in Will’s mind and Will finds that that, the most of all, does not bother him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you liked this! :)
> 
> I also post tons of shorter pieces on Twitter in the form of fic threads. Come say hi! :) [@DEFONI IS WRITING SMUT ON TWTR](https://twitter.com/Defoni)


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